


Secrets on the Other Side of the Wall

by kayisdreaming



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, pretty much for the lols, some suggestive material but nothing explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 14:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming
Summary: Dimitri, by unfortunate room location, learns who Sylvain's latest fling is.Except that, considering it seems to be a secret, he wonders if it really is a fling.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 60





	Secrets on the Other Side of the Wall

The first time it happens, Dimitri wonders if perhaps it’s imagination. It’s just the slam of a door, the creak of wood, the soft sound of fabric brushing against fabric.

True, it’s not unusual for there to be such noises in the halls—he’s been awake enough nights to know exactly how those sound—but they’re not usually so loud. Usually, this side of the hall is predictable; once Felix is done sharpening his sword for the night, it’s silent. As for Sylvain, he’s more out of his room than he’s in it. Dimitri’s tried to curb it—Goddess knows he has—but to limited effect. He’s at least grateful that Sylvain is quick to sleep when he _does_ sleep in his bed.

So, when he hears his walls make noise, he _notices_. It’s like his ghosts have graduated from barely-audible whispers to especially poltergeist activity. It’s not unusual for their voices to prod at his skull like the slow turn of a screw, but this is different.

Still, Dimitri has enough sense to try and ignore it, the first time. He knows well enough he’s not supposed to; there are more important things to focus on. He tries to lose himself in his studies, lets his quill scratch harder against the parchment to drown it out—he only loses a couple pen nibs in the process anyway.

The second night, though, he is far less forgiving. The noises are the same, at least at first. It’s tolerable until he hears a little breathy noise—a sigh, a gasp, something decidedly _not_ masculine—and he pieces it all together.

His quill cracks in his grasp. So much for Sylvain quelling his habits. He’s just brought them back to his room. As if _that_ counts.

Nights are tough enough to handle. He doesn’t need to deal with Sylvain’s nighttime habits, too.

*

“We had a deal.” He says, walking into the training grounds. He’s almost surpirsed that Sylvain’s actually training, but it’s quite likely that Ingrid has literally dragged him there.

Sylvain raises an eyebrow, leaning against his lance. “We did, Your Highness.”

“And you are going against your word. After I—”

Sylvain’s expression scrunches a bit. “When did I do that?”

“I _heard_ you last night.”

“Oh.”

Ingrid glares at Sylvain, lips curled into a scowl. Good. Maybe she can get him to behave, too.

*

During the next week, Dimitri doesn’t hear the nighttime noises again, but he’s not fool enough to think Sylvain has ceased his bad habits. Still, he’s not keen on following Sylvain just to catch him in the act. He’s already stumbled on the elder boy more than he’d ever want to, some instances among those he’s ardently wished to burn from his mind.

Besides, Dimitri doesn’t have to wait long to find out. He’s in the middle of studying a treatise on the strategies best for cavalry units when he hears that _noise_ again.

This time he’s _certain_ it’s a sigh—feminine, content, and utterly familiar. When it happens again, a page tears in his grip.

He sighs, rubbing his face. He’s not looking forward to explaining this to the librarian—he’s supposed to set an example, after all. He dreads dealing with it; to avoid it, he lets his mind slide back to the activities on the other side of his wall. Curiosity is more powerful than dread, after all.

The sound returns again, softer this time, but Dimitri is certain that it’s familiar. He still can’t place _why_ , though. Perhaps it’s because it’s definitely the same girl from before? Or it could be one of the Blue Lions . . .

“Shh.” He hears Sylvain whisper, a laugh in his tone. “Do you want His Highness to hear?”

There’s another pointed exhale—more frustrated this time. Dimitri leans in just a touch closer to the wall—he shouldn’t, he knows it’s improper aside from reprehensible—but he has to know just _who_ Sylvain’s attached himself to this time.

But there’s nothing. It’s . . . surprisingly quiet. 

It’s feasible, Dimitri admits, that Sylvain _isn’t_ falling into his old habits.

Until recently, it was rare for Sylvain’s flings to last longer than a week. Sure, his flings were a bit longer back in Gautier, but Dimitri credited that to a smaller pool of potential interests than anything else. Here, from what he can tell, Sylvain’s romances crumble after the second or third date. So for someone to stick around—to be brought to his room, even—is notable.

*

The pieces come together one evening over dinner.

It’s not a particularly unusual meal—at least not at first. Sylvain and Ingrid return late from a training session, saying that Felix will probably only come when the food’s gotten cold. Dimitri doesn’t question it anymore; he’s not surprised that Felix practically dwells there, only leaving when classes or sleep demand it. At least for tonight, it means his friends don’t have to divide their attention, and that Dimitri gets to enjoy their company in full.

It’s rare that they get to enjoy a meal together—and he knows it will be even rarer in their futures. So he welcomes any opportunity he can get, even when they insist that there are better people to pass the time with.

That they agree to join him today, of all days, must be a strike of cruel fortune (at least, it seems so when he thinks about it later). But it starts normal.

Dimitri’s grateful for the au gratin being offered; it’s probably the best meal that the Academy has in their menu, at least to his tastes (or lack thereof). Sylvain and Ingrid, on the other hand, have chosen rather generous servings of beast, with Sylvain adding only a dish of stir-fried vegetables as his side. It’s odd, since Dimitri’s sure—

“You know,” Sylvain sighs, poking at the meat with his knife, “I thought this was something else when I got it.”

Ingrid glances at him, a scowl on her lips. “What else could it _be_?” She huffs.

She has a point. There’s really not much opportunity for confusion when the plate is really as plain as it can get. Still, Dimitri can empathize. “I’m sure—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m an idiot.” Sylvain laughs and shrugs. He plucks the slab of meat with his fork and drops it on Ingrid’s plate. “Want to finish this for me?”

Ingrid glares down at the addition. “Sylvain—"

“I wasn’t very hungry, anyway. C’mon, do it as a favor.”

Ingrid sighs, but she certainly doesn’t argue further. Instead, she takes to the plate with renewed fervor—as if it had been on her plate all along. To her credit, she even finishes as Sylvain and Dimitri do.

And it’s _then_ that she sighs one long, contented sigh, and Dimitri’s entire body goes rigid.

That _sound_. _That_ was the one on the other side of his wall. _Ingrid_ was the one on the other side of the wall.

With Sylvain.

Doing . . . things.

“You alright there, Your Highness?” Sylvain tilts his head, a smile on his face. Completely clueless. Or, at least, pretending to be.

But Dimitri is nothing if not practiced with his princely demeanor. “Ah, yes.” He shakes his head. “I recalled we have an exam this week. And I admit I have not studied for it.”

Sylvain frowns and Dimitri almost worries he’s been caught. “It’s just about lancework. How hard can it be?”

Ingrid huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Says the guy I just beat into the ground for the last three hours.”

“Yeah, but _I’m_ hopeless.” Sylvain protests. “He’s a natural.”

“We’re being tested on _technique_.” Ingrid huffs. “We all could use some practice.”

“Perhaps,” Dimitri says, offering a smile, “I could join you sometime?”

Sylvain grins. “We’d be honored.”

It’s only then that Dimitri knows, with full confidence, that he’s been spared discovery for now.

*

For the next few weeks, Dimitri learns that it’s not so clear-cut to say that Ingrid and Sylvain are _together_.

Objectively, he knows they are. He hasn’t seen Sylvain with anyone else, at least not in a romantic sense. Usually, the man lets women gather around him like moths to a flame, but this time he doesn’t reach out to burn them. The distance is minute, but it’s there. Considering how eagerly he used to invade their spaces, honeyed words practically spilling from his lips, the change is significant.

But if only it were that simple. Sylvain seems to keep just as much distance from Ingrid. Aside from their training practices, it doesn’t seem like they spend much time together at all. In class, they sit on opposite ends of the room. At mealtimes, they only join each other if they just returned from practice, or if they have similar activities planned for afterward. Most of the time, though, it seems their free time is spent in other places and with other people—Ingrid certainly spends plenty of time with Ashe and Dorothea, while Sylvain’s time seems predominately occupied by Felix and Mercedes. On the battlefield, they seem to be more interested in their own missions than watching over each other—unless the Professor specifically demands it, at least.

Dimitri knows he should leave it be. If they’re together, then it should just come about naturally. Eventually, they’ll let everyone know. But they’re his _friends_. It seems ridiculous that they think no one else can be trusted with this.

He scolds himself every time he lets his mind wander. It’s their business, their matter. It’s best if he lets it be and lets things develop on their own.

*

Dimitri doesn’t let it sit for long.

In his defense, they’ve invited him to join them for training. The spars are challenging—difficult, even. He can’t deny that their practice has improved their skills immensely.

Ingrid has always been a challenge, admittedly. She’s been as fervent in bettering herself for her country as anyone—something Dimitri can admire and respect.

With Sylvain, though, it’s different. More often than not, the man seemed to slide by on sheer luck alone. It always seemed like he was one step away from getting himself skewered. Such recklessness always had him sprawled out on the training ground floor—breathless and thoroughly beaten. But now, well, now he’s a challenge. Now Dimitri has to be at his best to keep up with the man, actually use every ounce of his training to defeat him. Dimitri still wins, of course—it’s an improvement, not a miracle—but still.

“I must apologize.” He says, offering a hand to help Sylvain up.

“Don’t worry about it, Your Highness.” Sylvain says, his grin lopsided as he accepts the help. He rather dramatically brushes the dust off his pants. “You barely nicked me.”

“Not that.” Dimitri sighs, a hand running through the hairs at his nape. “I . . . judged you too harshly. I apologize.”

Ingrid laughs. “If you ask me, you don’t judge him harshly enough.”

Dimitri glances at her—at the easygoing expression on her face—and the temptation strikes again. “It’s . . . I thought he was . . . up to his old habits.”

Ingrid sighs. “Which one? Philandering or being lazy?”

“Hey.” Sylvain huffs. “That’s rude. Friends aren’t—”

“My point,” Dimitri interjects, before this becomes a mess that he didn’t intend, “is that it’s clear you’ve limited your, ah, skirt-chasing ways.”

Sylvain blinks. Now’s the time he normally denies it, or starts bragging about his latest conquest, or even starts suggesting hooking Dimitri up with someone. But he doesn’t. Instead, he just tilts his head, lips pressed together. “Guess I haven’t noticed. Ingrid’s been . . . keeping me busy.”

Ingrid pinches his ear harshly. “Don’t say it like that!”

Dimitri laughs. “It’s okay, I know what he meant.” What did Sylvain always call that technique? Deflection? “I merely mean that I am pleased he’s been taking his training seriously as of late.”

“Blame Ingrid.” Sylvain sighs, rubbing at his now luminescent ear. “She made me.”

Ingrid scowls at him. “It’s for your own good.”

“I guess.” Sylvain hums, shrugging slightly.

She whirls on him. “Then what _did_ you agree to this for?”

A sly smile falls onto Sylvain’s lips. “I like it when you praise me.”

It’s only for a moment, but Dimitri can see the way her eyebrows shoot up, lips parted slightly. If she hadn’t shut it down immediately, he’s _certain_ she would have blushed. It’s the same look she has whenever one of the higher-ranked knights used to compliment her skill. The same look when Glenn used to—

“Stop saying stupid things.” She scoffs, shifting her grip on her lance. “If you have time to do that, you have time for another spar.”

Sylvain groans. “Help me out here, Your Highness.”

Dimitri chuckles, taking a step back. “It is for your own good, Sylvain.”

As he watches them spar, he lets out a slow breath. His answer is clear. Ingrid is trying to keep it from even being suggested, while Sylvain is trying to conceal it beneath his usual bluster. They want it to be a secret between them, and only them. But he just can’t figure out _why_.

*

And then, Dimitri finds it entirely unjust to care about anything but the path for vengeance—for eternal rest—that those who had fallen before him demand.

*

It’s only years later that those memories come back to him.

It’s because Sylvain and Ingrid are standing in front of him and—most notably—definitely not looking at him. Sylvain’s taken a particular interest in the open window behind him, while Ingrid seems to be enthralled by a small scuff on her shoe.

“Sorry for the interruption, Your Majesty.” Sylvain says, a lopsided smile on his face.

Dimitri hums, turning away from the letter at his desk with a smile. “It’s no bother. I admit,” he laughs weakly, glancing at the piles of paperwork there, “I could use the distraction.”

“That’s . . . good.”

Dimitri smiles, folding his hands in his lap. He waits for them to continue.

And then he waits some more.

Dimitri tilts his head, smile still amiable. “Is this for business or pleasure?”

Sylvain opens his mouth, but Ingrid interrupts him. “We’ve come to ask a favor.” She practically blurts out. And then her face turns red and she can’t seem to manage the next words.

“It’s . . . probably gonna come out of nowhere, really.” Sylvain continues. “But . . .”

Dimitri sighs, barely preventing himself from chuckling. There’s no reason to torment them. “You want me to marry you two.” It’s tradition for the nobility, after all. And . . . only asked about four months later than he’d expected, all things considered. “To officiate.”

“No, we want—” Sylvain blinks. “Wait. Yes.”

Ingrid’s face is redder than Dimitri has ever seen her. “How did you—” She composes herself far quicker than Sylvain, clearing her throat. “It’s not from a sense of duty, Dimitri.”

“I know.”

“And,” Sylvain adds, “it’s not because our parents are pushing for it. They’re not—though I’m sure they’d be thrilled.”

“I know.”

“You . . .” both gape at him.

Dimitri laughs. “You two have been together since our Academy days. If you would allow me to be frank, I’m surprised you aren’t already married.”

“You—” Sylvain pales, “You didn’t know. There’s no way. No one knew”

Dimitri lets his smile widen. “Sylvain, we shared a wall.”

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the Sylvgrid server for this one


End file.
